


Three Ring Toss

by Celticas



Series: Trope Bingo [16]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Carson's Carnival, Circus, M/M, Momma Coulson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticas/pseuds/Celticas
Summary: A scared little boy spends an afternoon at the circus and his world changed.
Relationships: clint barton/ phil coulson
Series: Trope Bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518110
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Three Ring Toss

The sun beat down on the trampled grass and dust that stretched away from where his mom had parked their beat-up old car on the edge of the field. The day out was a rare treat, Dad had gotten a bonus at work and thrown a couple of notes at them this morning and told them to get out of the house in words that would get his ‘hide tanned’ if he used even _one_ of them let alone a whole sentence of them. Mom had hustled him into a coat and out the door, leaving before he could change his mind.

“Come on Phillip. You don’t want to miss the show.” Mom called, already out of the car and walking away.

He scrambled out after her, getting tangled in the seatbelt before managing to free himself without ending up in the dirt. The tents and stalls of the circus that had rolled into town the night before were a riot of colours, no single temporary building had fewer than three colours. He couldn’t get enough of it, the shouts of the performers roaming through the crowds trying to get people to buy tickets to the main show completed with the hollars from the people running the games.

He watched other children yell and run and bounce around with energy and excitement. Some with friends or siblings and some alone. It always confused him that they felt free enough to do that. It was so different from his own behaviour, standing quietly at his mom’s elbow. Part of him knew. Knew that what happened behind his home’s door wasn’t normal to other people, but it was to him. Being scared of Dad when he had a bad day and reached for the bottles above the fridge was normal and he didn’t know how to pretend.

Sharp, blue eyes watched him from the shadows of the rifle range. They belonged to a face that was about his age, both in years and experience. Without saying a word to each other, they both knew the other would understand.

Being seen was worse than being ignored, Phil found out in a flash. It felt like the other boy was seeing down to his soul, every bruise and break, every drop of blood spilt by someone who should have been protecting him. He edged a little closer to his mom, knocking his head against her arm.

“Oh. Phillip, why don’t you go play. Here. I’ll be here.” She fished out one of the notes Dad had thrown at her and handed it over.

A whole five dollars. He fingered the soft cotton of the money as he shuffled away, trying to slip between and behind a group of kids a few years older than him, putting them between himself and the blue eyes that saw too much. 

Glancing behind him, he couldn’t see the other boy among the crowd. Letting the flow of people pull him along where it willed, he turned his attention to the booths, fingering the money in his pocket.

Every single one looked fun, but he wasn’t going to be drawn in at the first stall. Better to see what was available and chose once he knew.

“Not that one.” A voice said from behind him.

Phil jumped at the unexpected voice.

“The bottles are weighted.”

It was the blue-eyed boy.

“Come on.” He grabbed Phil’s hand and tugged him through the milling people. He moved with such confidence, dodging in and around everybody, the familiarity telling Phil as much as the other boy had seen earlier.

He wasn’t a stranger to the circus. Probably, he was a kid of one of the performers. On one of the quieter alleys, he stopped. A faded red, orange and lurid green tent drooped slightly from age and neglect. The man under its shade, matched its well-worn appearance, lines crisscrossed a face tanned to leather by sun and weather.

“Hey Ruddy. My friend wants to play.” The boy grinned winningly at Ruddy.

Ruddy shrugged uninterested.

“You just gotta get three of the rings over one of the jars to win what's in it.” The grin was turned on him this time and Phil had to look away in the face of it.

Silently, he handed the money over, getting three dollars in return. He managed to muster up a bit of a smile when the man handed over the three rings. Phil carefully looked over what was on offer, the further away the jars got, the better the prize. But he had never been very good at sport, yet another failing on the long list his dad liked to scream at him. Two rows from the front, a jar held a little yo-yo. The first two rings sailed on with only a little wobble. As each one landed with a ting of glass, his confidence grew. He could do this. The third one caught on the side of the next jar and flipped off onto the table.

“Too bad. So sad.” The man taunted. Very obviously trying to goad Phil into paying for another game.

“Aw, come on Jimmy. Let me have a go.” The boy smirked.

“Get lost Clint.”

“I’ll do your shovellin’ for a month.” Clint offered.

“Fine.”

Clint easily sent the rings sailing through the air onto the jar Phil had been aiming for.

“Awesome.”

Jimmy passed over the card with a shrug, looking like he had still gotten the better end of the deal. Clint passed it over.

It wasn’t a baseball card. Instead a Red White and Blue man looked out from behind a mask.

“Oh, Cool. Cap.”

= + =

Newly minted Senior Agent Phillip Coulson looked down at the card as he considered his options. He remembered Clint Barton AKA “Hawkeye”. His afternoon of kindness to a scared, hurt little boy had shaped him into the man he was today. Kickstarting his obsession with Captain America and Doing Good ™. Could he draw that kindness into the shadows of SHIELD?


End file.
